Bruises
by vengeancedemon
Summary: Joker and Harley have a very interesting relationship. (One-shot) (I am not condoning abuse. I do not believe Harley and Joker have a positive relationship. However something about their dynamic is very interesting to me.)


He held her chin in his strong, wiry hands. She shuddered, his bright green eyes burning holes into her, intimidating and exciting her all at once. A chuckle rolled through him, becoming a cackle as it slipped past his lips, a grotesque smirk splitting his cheeks and creasing the flesh. He was hell in human form, pure chaos lighting up his eyes, glinting like the burning gas of countless stars. He was anarchy and danger and raw, brutal nature and all of it frightened her and enraptured her. She was completely enthralled by him, enveloped by him, consumed by him.

Warmth spread through her, soothing her aching body. Bruises blossomed on her skin like flowers, purples and yellows and blues spreading under her pale flesh. An ache pierced her side; she was sure a rib was broken, possibly two. But that didn't matter. His hand touched her cheek, his skin hot against hers. His body temperature ran higher than most people and she often referred to him as her personal heater, and his hand on her face was nothing different. She closed her eyes, her breath catching against the pain of her side, leaning her face into his hand to relish in this one soft moment as if it would wipe away all the pain.

Continuing to laugh, he grabbed her by a ponytail and pulled her to her feet. She lost her balance slightly, clutching her side, sob after sob shaking her silently. He straightened her and she winced in pain. A soft caress over her cheek and her neck drew her forward, soothing the pain in her. His softness, every caress and pet and gentle word would draw her back in, completely erase every ache in her body and heart and mind.

"Harley, sweetheart, you know I didn't mean it. You know how I lose my temper quite often. You sultry little minx, if you didn't go and get yourself in trouble we wouldn't have to worry about this, would we?"

His saccharine words rolled over her and deep down, she knew he was lying. She knew that every word he spat at her was fake, that he didn't really love her and that she hadn't done anything to warrant him beating her. But the tiny voice at the bottom of her core was silenced by this soft caress. Yes, he really loved her, yes it was all her fault, yes, and she would try to do better, yes! Yes! She would give him her all and try her damndest to do right by him and no longer humiliate him! She would be his perfect girl, his perfect partner in crime, his Harley Quinn!

She fell to her knees and pressed her cheek to his thigh, the purple suit material rough against her skin. Tears rolled down her face and he pulled his leg away. "Now Harley, it's downright rude to get your tears all over my new suit. Come to bed, now. Daddy has had a very long day and will not have you keeping him up any longer than you already have." He left her there then to go into their bedroom.

She collapsed onto the cold floor again. If she could lie here and just die a while, she knew she would feel much better. She could forget her whole body and all the aches and pains that were attached to it. Hell, she could even try to forget about him. Who was she kidding? She could never forget about him. He had a power over her that no other human had. She lived for that gentle caress. She could suffer any pain he could inflict on her if only to hear those sweet words he spoke, feel his kindness once more.

"Harley, are you coming to bed OR NOT?" His voice was cold, biting, and filled her with dread and fear, encouraging her to push herself to her feet and stumble in the direction of the doorway.

"Comin', Mistah J!" Her voice broke as she called out, cracking under the strain of her physical injuries. Every step caused black to spread in her vision and exhaustion began to overwhelm her. To her relief, the bed was one step away, and she collapsed onto it, crying out when her injured side bumped the hard mattress. Joker reached over and rolled her into the center, onto her back, and fresh tears burned her eyes. He shoved open her knees, grabbing her chin with his hand, and slid aside her panties. Couldn't he see that she was too hurt for this? Couldn't he see that she couldn't do this for him?

Clearly, her tears had no impact on him. She had no energy to fight him off, to tell him no. He had broken her down, physically and mentally, and she could no longer refuse him. He thrust himself deep inside, laughing maniacally, slapping her hard across the face several times; her eye becoming puffy. Her body felt like lead, imprisoning her to this bed where he would violate her over and over and she had no choice but to lay there. Digging his hand into the side of her broken ribs, causing her to scream, his smile grew wider and more devilish.

Her humiliation dawned on her. He had broken her as a woman, as a human being, and she didn't know if she could ever be right again.

He came inside her, filling her and spilling onto the already disgusting sheets underneath them. He collapsed on top of her, putting pressure on her chest where all the smaller bruises were merging to become a giant purple blob on her side. He thought it was beautiful. He thought she was beautiful like that, broken and violated by him. No one would ever be able to do that to her but him. She was completely his to ruin and desecrate.

She was suddenly cold. Logically knowing what shock felt like and actually experiencing it were two different things, she realized.

"I'm sorry." Her voice was hoarse as she called out to him while he slipped out of the room. It was impossible for her to speak above a whisper. "Please." She saw him turn his head, his back still to her. All she wanted was for him to turn around and comfort her, tell her that it had all been worth it. "I'm sorry."

He closed the door behind him, leaving her in the cold dark room alone.

She drifted between consciousness and dream, contemplating the entirety of the situation.

Was this her whole life now? Did it have to be? Did she have to withstand the endless beatings, the rape, to be with him? Did she have to give up her happiness for those small moments of bliss?

She realized she would never be able to leave. Those small moments were like crack to her, pulling her back into his control, into her vulnerable state. She felt that he couldn't be that bad if he could give her those small moments where he was kind and sweet to her. How truly evil could he be when he showed her for the first time how to love someone?

Joker sat at his desk, thinking hard.

He was trying to come up with some sort of new plan to bring the Batman to his knees, but nothing was coming to him. He let his mind wander to his Harley. A chuckle shook him. The look on her face! She had to know that it was comedy gold. She was so stupid, and he was so grateful for it. No matter how rough on her he was, no matter how badly he beat her, she would always crawl back to him. All it took was a gentle touch, a sweet word here or there. She was so desperate for him. She couldn't live without him, and that power over her made him absolutely giddy. That was why he really kept her around—he loved the control that he had over her. She was absolutely so dependent on him. Her _need_ for him made him powerful.

Should he go back in and bandage her up? Possibly, if he wanted to keep playing with her. He'd let her be in pain for a while longer though. She had to know that she was his to make decisions for. If he wanted her in pain, she would be in pain. If he wanted her dead, she would be dead. She completely and utterly belonged to him. Her happiness, her pain, her excitement, her release, hell, even her cunt belonged to him. The mere thought of it made him laugh. Now _that_ was funny.


End file.
